


He's a fighter

by kaitlia777



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: 1x08 possibility?, Angst, Gunshot Wounds, M/M, Team as Family, description of injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22948468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitlia777/pseuds/kaitlia777
Summary: So, I had to write something after seeing the trailer for 1x08....
Relationships: Carlos Reyes & Owen Strand, Carlos Reyes (9-1-1 Lone Star)/TK Strand, Carlos Reyes/TK Strand, Owen Strand & TK Strand, The 126 team
Comments: 17
Kudos: 369





	He's a fighter

It all happened in the blink of an eye. They had arrived at the scene of a suspected cardiac event, but the patient and his family were in a locked room. According to the woman who had called 9-1-1, they were hiding from her son, who had flown into a rage earlier that evening when she had asked him not to go out drinking again. Just before their arrival, the caller had stopped responding to Grace and, given that time was of the essence, Owen had decided they were going to break the door down.

TK had the Blackhawk Monoshock Ram in hand as they made their way to the door and tried again to get someone to open it. When there was no response, Owen gave his son the go ahead and TK moved into position. With the ease of practice, he swung the ram, hitting the door beside the lock, showing beautiful breaching technique as the door burst inward, lock and frame giving enough for it to swing open. He followed the momentum of the swing, stepping into the room.

The loud, sharp crack that seemed to tear through the air of the room was startling. TK stumbled even as Owen felt himself yanked back and he heard a small, high voice sob, “I’m sorry!”

“Gun!” Judd shouted, even as Owen realized police officers were swarming forward and a pained cry sounded from the room.

A cry he knew and hit him viscerally.

“TK! Are you hit?”

“Dad!”

His voice was rough, full of shock and pain and Owen struggled in Judd’s restraining grip.

“Put down the gun, Son,” one of the officers ordered, holding out a hand, his own weapon seemingly pointed away from where the shooter would be.

“I thought Daddy was back. I didn’t mean to!”

It was a kid. A scared kid.

“We’re here to help you,” the officer was saying. “Put the gun down, so we can help your grandparents. Can you do that?”

When the officer moved forward, taking the gun from the sobbing boy, they were finally allowed into the room. 

“Karen, Tim, see to them. Call for additional ALS support,” Michelle ordered, sending the other 2 paramedics to assess the older couple. The man was lying prone on the floor, his wife slumped over him. Normally, Owen would have been concerned and asking if there was anything they could do to assist, but…

TK was on the floor as well, to the left of the door, slumped against the wall. He was awake; face contorted in pain, blood on his lips as Michelle fell to her knees beside him and moved him onto the floor. He coughed, bringing up more blood and cringing in pain. Owen stumbled over, taking a place by TK’s head, stroking his damp hair as Judd moved to assist Michelle. 

The white stitching of TK’s name was no longer white, but bright red with his blood.

Michelle efficiently cut open his shirt as TK gasped for air, the high flow O2 from the non-rebreather mask Judd put on him not seeming to do a lot of good.

“Gunshot, upper right quadrant, 2” right of midline. Respiratory distress, dyspnea and tachypnea. Vitals?”

“BP 80/60, pulse 122...fuck,” Judd muttered and TK made a little, pained panicking sound. 

“Tachycardia and no breath sounds on the right. Bullet went through the lung, no exit wound,” Michelle rattled off, pulling a needle from her bag. “TK, you’re going to be okay. We’re going to decompress the pneumothorax and then get you to the hospital.”

“No!” TK gasped, bloody hand clawing at the mask on his face, tugging it down. “No drugs. Recovery. Can’t relapse again. Don’t…don’t want to die anymore….”

His own pulse was roaring in his ears, but his son’s words made Owen’s heart falter. Judd sucked in a breath, grabbing TK’s hand and placing the mask back on his face. Michelle didn’t seem deterred, looking down at him.

“You’ve been shot, TK. You need pain medication. It doesn’t compromise your sobriety because you’re not taking it to get high. I’ll make sure the doctors know so they can take precautions. Please, let me help you,” she said, holding the medication ready, but not proceeding without consent.

Even with the mask on, TK’s lips were tinged a bit blue and Owen could see he was losing the battle to stay conscious. Pain filled eyes locked on Owen and he nodded, which made TK sob and give Michelle the go ahead.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Owen promised his son, bending down to press a kiss to TK’s pale, clammy brow.

The fentanyl hit him hard and he was out by the time Michelle pushed a 14 gauge needle just above the third rib at the midclavicular line. There was a rush of air and Owen saw TK’s chest rise slightly easier.

“We got it,” Michelle said, taping the port down as Judd fixed an occlusive dressing over the wound itself. “Get the stretcher in here, time to move!”

Owen’s eyes never left his son’s pale, still face as the team loaded him onto the stretcher. Even through the non-rebreather mask, the blood staining his lips chilled Owen to his very core. He felt dazed, like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over him as he followed them out to the ambulance.

“What happened?”

A new voice with an edge of panic broke through Owen’s fog and he glanced over to see Carlos, his face a mask of stunned horror.

“I’ve got him, Carlos,” Michelle said, calm and professional as she and one of the newly arrived paramedics loaded TK into the back of the ambulance. “Owen, you can come with, but I want you upfront with the driver.”

He wanted to protest, but knew doing so would waste time.

“We’ll meet you at the hospital, Cap,” Paul said, in a somber huddle with Marjan and Mateo. Judd had already joined Michelle in the back, a pair of extra hands to help in any way he could.

Sirens blaring, they sped off into the dark night, the short drive to the hospital seeming interminably long.

 _Was this how TK felt when he’d learned of my cancer diagnosis?_ Owen wondered. The panic clawing at the back of his throat, terrified that the most important person in his life was in danger of losing his?

Through the small window to the back, Owen could hear Michelle’s voice drifting out. An IV was in and she seemed pleased with what it did for TK’s blood pressure, but she was on the radio with the hospital, clearly worried.

Judd’s voice was a low rumble too, a prayer Owen thought he might vaguely recognize, but couldn’t place.

It wasn’t a bad idea though and, for the first time in a long time, Owen prayed.

* * *

Passing a cluster of police officers and firefighters by the blood bank, Deputy Fire Chief Alden Radford nodded to them. One of their own had fallen, so the call went out and was answered in droves, as always. Some in uniform, most off duty, all there to silently support the 126 and the young firefighter fighting for his life in an OR upstairs.

The surgical floor was far quieter than downstairs, his shined shoes clicking on the tile as he approached the waiting room. Captain Strand looked tired and haunted as he sat facing the doors that led toward the operating suites as though he could conjure up a doctor to update him on his son through sheer force of will.

Captain Blake sat beside him, wearing borrowed scrubs that suggested she’d probably had a significant amount of blood on her. Never a good sign. On her other side was a young police officer, his hands fidgeting nervously as though he needed an outlet for his anxiety.

Judson Ryder looked like he’d been mule kicked, even with his wife’s steady presence beside him. After losing his previous team, this had to be hitting him hard. Like Blake, he was in a pair of scrub pants, the legs far too short for the big man, but no one cared about that today.

Sitting on another couch was Mateo Chavez, his former driver. The kid had recently passed his exams with flying colors. Good for him, finding a place he fit in that could encourage him and help him blossom. Right now though, he looked distraught and so very young. Beside him, Strickland had his arms crossed, clearly trying to hold himself together for the good of the team. Marwani was pacing, trying to wear a rut in the linoleum as she attempted to work out whatever she was feeling.

In the short time since Strand had recruited them, it was clear the 126 had formed some very strong bonds. He wasn’t sure exactly where the patrolman fit in, but that wasn’t important.

“How is he?” Alden asked and heads turned, startled, as though they hadn’t really noticed his presence until he spoke. Eight pairs of eyes snapped to him, some haunted, others sad, all worried.

After a moment, Blake spoke. “He’s young and healthy. The doctors are removing the bullet and repairing the damage to his lung. He should make a full recovery.”

That was good news, but clearly no one was going to feel better until the younger Strand was out of surgery and they could see him. The boy’s father had gone back to staring at the doors and Alden knew this had to be hitting him hard. The man was still dealing with his own health issues and now his son was fighting for his life.

Something no parent should have to see.

“Volunteers from off shifts and other houses have stepped up, offering to fill any time you need to take,” Alden continued and Strand gave a stiff nod.

Clearly, the only thing that was going to make the man feel better would be knowing his son was on the mend.

* * *

TK had been in surgery over an hour now and Carlos felt like there was a vice squeezing his chest tighter and tighter with each passing minute. He wanted to get up, wanted to flee the hospital, but he was frozen, hands clenched on the edge of the vinyl sofa, pulse pounding in his ears.

“Hey. Carlos, breathe,” Michelle’s soft voice broke through the fog in his head but didn’t clear it. “He’s going to be okay. This isn’t…”

This isn’t like the last time. At least she knew he couldn’t deal with having her bring up Nico right now. Nico Stone had gone through the academy with him and they’d had a playful friendship that had naturally developed into something deeper. Neither of them had been ready to say the word love, but that’s what it had been…and then Nico was gone.

A bullet had torn through his throat when responding to a domestic. His partner had done her best to save him, but he’d been gone before the paramedics even reached the scene.

Carlos vowed never to get involved with someone else on the job again.

Seeing TK lying on a stretcher earlier had made all of it come rushing back. Sure, he and TK were…complicated, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel a connection to him. 

Hell, he’d felt it that first night as they stood there watching TK’s dad save a baby from a tree. It was one of those moments where Carlos had clocked him, thought ‘Oh, cute,”…then something else hit. Something that told him this was a guy he wanted to know.

Things with TK weren’t always easy. He was seemingly surrounded by landmines, heart battered and bruised from New York, afraid to let go and let himself fully start over.

Carlos was patient though. He could wait. TK was worth it…Sure, he was a fireman and ran into burning buildings for a living, a dangerous job to be sure…But Carlos never thought he’d get shot….

“I know,” he managed, voice tight and a bit tremulous. “I know, I just….”

It was nice to see no one judging him for letting the pain show in his voice.

“He’s a fighter,” Owen said suddenly, nodding as though reassuring himself. “He was a premie, born at 31 weeks and so tiny…He spent weeks in the NICU and I used to go in and hold his little hand between my thumb and forefinger and he survived and thrived.”

He had his phone in hand and was staring down at the images like they were a lifeline. Carlos leaned a bit toward Michelle to see the screen and Owen clearly noticed, startling. His eyes fixed on Carlos for a moment before he nodded and offered him the phone.

“I scanned in a bunch of TK’s old baby pictures when I got Facebook,” he said as Carlos sucked in a breath, seeing how Small TK had been, delicate and tiny curled in his father’s arms.

He was aware of the others drifting closer to crowd around the couch as he scrolled through the pictures, a tiny baby in FUTURE FIREFIGHTER and Tigger onesies to a bright eyes toddler with a mischievous smile. He was clearly a happy kid, adored by his parents. Birthdays and Halloweens, Thanksgivings, Chanukahs and Christmases past. After a few Halloweens, Carlos paused and glanced at Owen.

“Yes, he was a fire fighter every year once he was old enough to express his opinion about his costumes.”

Okay, that was adorable.

His fingers stilled as he swiped to a picture with a caption. It showed Owen and a dark haired, pretty woman standing with a 6 or 7 year old TK, all of then wearing Yankees shirts and big smiles. However, the words on the image were far less joyful.

**Rachel Fox-Strand**

**Beloved Mother, Wife, Daughter and Sister**

**With us always.**

**8/15/67-9/11/01**

"He was still a baby, only 7 when his mother died. One of the reasons I couldn't tell him about my cancer for so long,” Owen said, voice sounding much older and tired than it usually did. “How could I let that day take us both? He couldn't sleep in his room for a year. He was so afraid I wouldn't be there when he woke up. I just couldn’t get my head around the idea of not being here for him."

TK seemed more somber in the pictures after that, not quite as innocent and free. His smile returned and a few years later he looked adorable standing beside Owen as his best man. The stepmom appeared in a few pictures, but then it was back to TK and occasionally Owen.

“I took him to Pride the summer after he came out to me,” Owen said with a fond smile, pointing to a picture. TK was a skinny little kid, all huge eyes and a mop of dark hair, wearing jeans and a white t-shirt with rainbow stripes across the chest. Owen was with him, wearing a PFLAG DAD shirt, obviously embracing his extraness. “I couldn’t figure out if he was happy or embarrassed of me.”

“Probably both, “ Marjan opined and Carlos had to agree. He was about to keep looking at the photos, when a doctor emerged from the doors that they’d taken TK through.

Immediately, they were all on their feet, Owen hurrying toward the man, demanding, “How’s my son?”

The doctor, a woman of about 40, gave him a reassuring nod. “Tyler came through surgery just fine. We were able to repair his lung tissue and any damage done by the path of the bullet. It was small caliber and was buried in the internal intercostal muscle behind his lung. As far as penetrating chest trauma goes, he got lucky. We placed a chest tube and he’s being moved to recovery now.”

Owen visibly sagged with relief, Judd grabbing his arm to make sure his knees didn’t give out. “When can we see him?” the big firefighter asked, taking the lead to give Owen a moment to regroup.

“He’ll be in recovery for approximately two hours and you can see him once he’s moved to a regular care unit,” the doctor assured them. “Two visitors at a time today.”

That rule wasn’t going to go over well, Carlos was certain.

When the doctor left, they made their way back to the seating area, the room palpably less anxious.

“You go on in with Cap once they let us see the kid,” Judd said and it took Carlos a moment to realize he was speaking to him.

“I…you don’t want to go in?” he asked, surprised. He knew Judd had appointed himself something of an older brother to TK, who seemed to enjoy the relationship.

Judd snorted. “Sure I do, but I’m damn sure he’d rather wake up to see your pretty face and not mine.”

The other members of the 126 nodded, little smiles on their faces promising all kinds of friendly teasing later…but Carlos really, really wanted to see TK with his own two eyes.

Soon, they made their way down to the unit where TK would be sent and Owen immediately chased down some nurses, talking in hushed tones. Carlos overheard murmurs of _recovery, OD 6 months ago_ and _OxyContin_ and the rest of TK’s team exchanged glances.

“Well, that makes the living situation a little less weird,” Paul said, nodding like things were falling into place in his head. Then he arched a brow at Carlos. “You knew already.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I knew,” Carlos confirmed, but he lost interest in the conversation as a pair of staffers pushed a gurney down the hall. TK was laying on it, small and still, but blessedly not as pale as he had been the last time Carlos had seen him. His eyes looked a little bleary, not really focusing on anyone or anything during the brief moments they opened, but it was enough.

Ten minutes later, he and Owen were allowed into TK’s room. The bed was bigger than the gurney and he was hooked up to IV’s, a nasal cannula and there were chest tubes, but Carlos thought he looked great.

“Hey, Kiddo,” Owen said, crossing to his son and smoothing his messy hair back from his forehead. The elder Strand bent and kissed his son’s head, his relief a physical thing. Carlos had a great relationship with his own folks, but his father was rarely so physically affectionate. It was a nice thing to witness.

A grumpy little noise came from TK and he stirred, wincing a bit. Carlos stepped closer to the bed, hesitating a moment before he wrapped a hand around TK’s wrist, his fingers pressing against the skin of his inner wrist, feeling the slow, strong thump of his pulse. “Kinda had us all worried,” he said, smiling when TK’s fingers curled around his own. 

They stood there for a moment, just watching TK breathe, the beep of the monitor the only thing breaking the silence. Then Owen spoke. “I’ve never liked any of his boyfriends, well Simon was all right, but they were 14. Hard to hate a child,” he said, his hand still stroking his son’s head. “I hated Alex, but TK is an adult and he said he was happy, so I told myself to respect that.”

Carlos froze, not really sure where Owen was going with this, but he didn’t let go of TK’s hand.

“I actually like you though. He doesn’t say anything but he actually seems happy when he’s been out with you, or even when I see him on the phone with you.”

That was not at all what Carlos expected and he looked down at TK’s sleep smooth features. “We’re not...together,” he said because he didn’t know how to define what they had. Sure, he was pretty certain he knew the direction his heart was headed, but TK was more difficult to read.

Owen smiled a bit sadly. “You both like each other and care about each other. That’s a start,” he said, then looked down when TK mumbled something. “You waking up, Buddy?”

TK’s face scrunched up and he wriggled a bit on the bed before blinking up at Owen. “Dad?” He asked, voice slow as though the words were heavy on his tongue. “What happ...oh hi Carlos.”

Those slightly dazed, obviously medicated eyes turned to him and a sunny smile followed. Clearly, the surgical analgesic hadn’t worn off yet.

“How’re you feeling?” He asked as TK squeezed his hand harder and gave a little tug.

“Okay. Sleepy...you’re so nice to ask. So nice in general….and so pretty….”

Owen gave a little chuckle at his son’s meandering ramble and Carlos blushed. “Do you remember what happened?” He questioned gently, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hip pressing against TK’s.

As Owen pulled up a chair, TK shook his head. “No? What happened…why am I in a hospital?” His happy but confused expression fell away suddenly and Carlos could almost see the moment when something clicked. “What did I do? What did I take?”

His voice was small and sad and Carlos shook his head even as Owen said, “Nothing. There was an incident at a call. You were shot. Yes, the doctors gave you a sedative and pain meds, but I made sure they know you’re in recovery. This doesn’t break your sobriety, TK. You didn’t take anything.”

Clearly, the reasoning wasn’t sitting well with TK and Carlos said, “Hey. You’re going to be okay. You got shot and survived. You can survive this, especially with us...your dad, me, the rest of the team, we’re all here for you. In fact, they’re all out in the waiting room right now.”

There was almost a little surprise in TK’s eyes, like he couldn’t believe they were there for him.

“For today the doctor only wants two visitors at a time,” Owen informed TK. “Carlos and I are just the first round.”

TK blinked at them, eyes drooping a bit. “I don’t think I’ll be awake for everyone….”

Owen patted his arm. “Don’t worry. I can break out the baby pictures and keep everyone entertained...again.”

That made TK dart a look at Carlos, who grinned. “You were an adorable Tigger.”

He groaned softly. “Guess I’m gonna be okay if you’re busting my balls.”

Carlos laced his fingers with TK’s. “Damn right, you’re going to be okay...but I still want to see more pictures.”

**Author's Note:**

> IDK if I might add more or just leave it as is.


End file.
